Ultimate Fireheart Fantasy Collection, page 29
Standing up he forced himself to take a few steps forward. The movement felt strange and unnatural to him. Cetus looked down at his feet. Only to see immense talons instead of toes.
A part of him wanted to know what was happening to him. Then a memory of some people came into his mind. There was a woman, Fateweaver, talking to him. Showing him some ancient maps. She gave him some coin that he gave to his wife before leaving them.
Cetus sat back on the marble. The cold stone pulsing through him and breathing in the faint smell of long gone humans that left his mouth fantasying about their delicious flesh.
He tried to think about this problem. Cetus knew he was trapped and turning into something. He must have done this willingly may be to help or save his family. Yes, that sounded right.
The sound of the door creeping open made Cetus turn and stand.
A young woman was pushed hard into the chamber. Cetus had no idea how old she was. Maybe twenty. He had to admit she was attractive with her slim figure and long golden hair that flowed like an ocean down her long black dress. Should he help her? Talk to her?
Cetus took a step forward but then he saw a little cut on her forehead. A wave of sadness washed over him. Until he saw a drop of beautiful blood drip down her face.
He licked his lips.
Cetus didn’t know why. He just wanted a little taste.
He tried to fight it.
Cetus wanted to resist.
He was hungry.
So hungry.
Cetus snarled.
Charging at her.
He felt his teeth grow into razor sharp fangs.
His claws growing in length and sharpness.
They shone in the light.
The young woman screamed in terror.
Cetus slashed her chest.
She screamed in agony.
He didn’t care.
Her warm blood splashed up his chest.
Cetus laughed in utter delight.
He sunk his massive fangs into her flesh.
It was delicious. So sweet. So juicy. So...
***
When his vision tried to clear, Cetus could only see blurs of shapes. Cetus tried to focus on his surroundings, but he couldn’t. All he could smell was the delicious, if not disturbing, blood that must have covered the room along with piles of rotting flesh. He knew this was wrong but there was something good about it. Something he longed for. It left a sweet taste like juicy pork or barbecue ribs in his mouth.
Although, Cetus felt something hard and solid under him that pulsed warmth into his body. It wasn’t unpleasant but he wanted it to stop.
Cetus tried to stand up, but pain flooded his wrists and ankles. It felt as if something was stabbing his joints. The harder he tried to move the worse the pain got.
After a moment or two, his vision cleared and he wanted to shoot back. But the solid thing (rock?) he was tied to stopped that. He looked at the five cloaked figures in their dark black cloaks and veils. Leaving no skin untouched but their chests showed they were all women.
Cetus hadn’t heard it before but they were screaming at him. Chanting you might call it. He didn’t know the language. It sounded strange and alien. Maybe Mortisical. Those people were strange in the far north.
The words were rough and violent. Like these women were screaming for help or screaming for demons to come.
Sweat dripped off his back and forehead. He really didn’t want to be here.
Immense pain filled Cetus’s body. He screamed out as his body flooded with agony. Almost like people were ripping his flesh out.
A strange sense of familiarity washed over him. It was like he had done this before. Not once, not twice. Maybe a thousand or tens of thousands of times.
A beautiful, angelic, velvety voice spoke into his mind.
“You have passed. I am Primus Fateweaver. Your new hope. Your Mother. I created you. You will help me with my Endgame. You shall weave the fates to my tune. All of the 9 Kingdoms shall bend their knee to me,”
Cetus just nodded in agreement against the screams of agony as he saw the women stab and slash his skin. Taking out organs and putting in potions and strange objects into him.
“You are my Flesheater. The First of your kin. You will be my sword but there is something so important you must do first. Will you do it?”
“Yes!” Cetus shouted.
All he wanted to do was serve this beautiful voice. He belonged to Fateweaver. He would serve her. No matter how dark the plot. Cetus just wanted to please her.
A small part of him shook his head briefly. This was wrong. He was no slave. He was free but as this tiny part of him made him shake his head. The voice spoke to him. Almost as if it was talking to this little part of him that was surviving this ritual.
“Your mind belongs to me. I am The Weaver of Fate. I will make sure you will never free him. I will make you watch as you kill men, women and children for me. Do you understand?”
For some reason, Cetus nodded his head. He didn’t know why. He was happy to serve her. He wanted to kill for her. Cetus wanted to unleash his talons onto the flesh of mortals. He loved the feeling of their flesh.
“Cetus, I need you to mate with six people. There will be a Noble Family in a thousand years’ time. I need one of them to be a Flesheater. Go now. Mate with six people then return to me. I must stop the House of Fireheart before they stop me in a thousand years,”
When Cetus heard those words, he blinked hard. Then he cocked his head as he didn’t see any of the five women anymore. His body didn’t hurt. He was fine, perfect even.
All he wanted to do was taste the flesh of mortals and drink their beautiful blood. But first he knew he had a mission. He needed to meet six people for some entertainment.
Standing up he found it weird the ropes were gone. But looking at the small door to the entrance of the little castle chamber, he saw it was wide open.
Cetus didn’t waste any time. He walked out as fast as he could. Ready to complete his mission for the Weaver of Fate.
HEART OF A KILLER
It was happening all over again.
Hellen knew that as soon as she walked inside the damp mould covered wooden house with its small box like rooms. Hellen knew exactly where everything was here. From the little kitchen with a broken constantly dripping tap in the back to this main room that served as a living, dining and bedroom.
She frowned a little as she stepped over a mouldy broken plate in the doorway and she went inside further.
Her massive wooden stick tapped gently against the floor that crumbled with each step she took. Kicking up all sort of nasty things into the air.
Hellen took a few more steps as she stood on something that made her foot slimy and wet.
Inspecting the little house, a memory of her playing in here as a child with some of her friends sprang to mind. It was a lot nicer back then and this was a house that wasn't reduced to ruin. How times change.
The sound of the constantly dripping tap still went on in the background as Hellen remembered how disgusting that water tasted all those decades ago.
As she walked to the middle of the little house, she crushed a little toy covered in some sort of dead animal. A rat perhaps? Hellen really didn't want to find out.
The reason was she was here dressed in her grey Procurator coat was because she was an Officer of the Law working for the Queen and someone had randomly decided to end someone. Well that was what the report said.
Yet Hellen didn't remember too many of the details whilst her mind was still a little foggy after last night's... fun with one of the Royal Guards. Those people can move!
The sound of damp mould drew Hellen's focus back to the ruined house. The black mould covered every inch of this disgusting place. Hellen didn't know why the house was still standing. Everyone in Ordericous knew this was a health hazard in an unloved part of the country. Maybe she should throw her weight around and get it destroyed. It might stop a few people from getting sick. Maybe she would.
Turning around Hellen held her grey Procurator cloak over her nose as the air stunk of rotten meat and the sound of the flies buzzing reached her ears.
Looking over at the little dead yellow straw bed in the far corner of the little disgusting room, Hellen found exactly what she thought she would find. A half devoured corpse.
Simply lying there, stretched out on the straw bed for the rats and other foul creatures of the night to devour.
Hellen shook her head.
It was happening all over again.
Stepping carefully over to the corpse and bed, Hellen gagged as the smell of rotten flesh grew stronger and stronger. But thankfully the buzzing of the flies died down. Almost as if Hellen was scaring them.
After all, she had been told on more than one occasion of her scariness.
Standing only a metre away from the corpse, Hellen skilfully used her massive wooden stick to pull the flies and their lava off the victim.
Then Hellen had to frown and a wave of... sadness (she supposed) washed over her. She had seen this all before as she noted the flayed skin on the lower parts of the devoured body. Chunks of his skin still laid there attached to his body.
Moving her eyes up his body, Hellen supposed he must have been a strong lad once. Judging by a couple chunks of strong well defined abs that were barely eaten.
Then the real horror revealed itself. Judging by the saw and dagger marks on his chest, Hellen gave a deep frown as she thought about how the killer had carved out the man's still beating heart. Before making the victim watch his own heart beat whilst the foul killer continued to carve out their organs.
Hellen had to look away from the body.
Her studies at the Procurator academy only went so far. The real reason she sadly knew most of this was because she had seen the killer at work once. So long ago but not long enough.
Hellen walked over to the other side of the room. Listening to the dripping tap in the background and feeling the ruined floor under her feet.
The memory of investigating this killer, eventually finding him and then almost becoming his next victim flashed through her mind.
It was the same killer.
The memories of seeing the poor woman being killed in this horrific way always played in her mind at night. Having plenty of... special exercise helped but it never stopped the memories for long.
Looking over back at the corpse, Hellen made herself take a deep vile breath of this truly horrific damp mouldy air as she focused on this crime.
She might have failed to catch the killer once but not again. She was not going to let him take another life and that was a promise.
***
As Hellen breathed in the thick black smoke around her that left a foul bitter taste in her mouth, she frowned at the immense metal cladded warehouses that stretched back for as far as the eye could see and tens of metres into the sky. Housing all sorts of carriages, workshops and tools needed for repairing ships. Their metal cladding was an assault on the eyes with its ugly grey and rusted look.
Hellen lent against one of the metal cladded warehouses, its cold metal sending chills through her soft Procurator cloak, and she looked around with a frown at this square of open ground surrounded by these warehouses.
She dug the end of her massive wooden stick in the gravel covered ground. Listening to the gravel moan a little amongst the sounds of ships and dockworkers a few hundred metres away. Then the faint sound of waves hitting the edge of the docks tens of metres away reminded Hellen of how unloved this part of the docks were.
Casting her mind back, she remembered her father mentioning how busy and crazy the docks were every day. With thousands of ships coming into the harbour AND docks carrying everything you could imagine. Then her father would comment on how strange it was that you could never hear the waves because of the shouting of orders and everything else.
She smiled as she remembered her father. A lot of people she worked for shunned her for coming from a family of dockers. The lowest of the low. Commoners to the core. But Hellen just wanted to whack these people with her stick. She was a proud docker. Her father always said being a docker was the best job.
Hellen didn't know if she agreed with him on that but being a docker wasn't a bad job. It kept her family alive and well.
A loud crash of a wave in the distance made Hellen focus back on the ugly warehouses. The killer had to be here. This was where he lived. At least when she had tracked him down the first time, and this was his only option for a hideout.
From the eccentric (to put it nicely) Lady Serpentine running the underground caves to the Queen redeveloping all unused land. This was the only place left where no one would come looking.
Hellen had to smile at herself then. She had worked it all out and tracked the killer where all those posh annoying snobs couldn't. Sometimes Hellen really wanted to whack them with her stick to shut them up. Then she reminded herself she needed to find him first.
A small deep laugh echoed around the little circle of warehouses.
Hellen picked up her massive stick. Ready to whack something.
Something fell from the sky.
Hellen jumped.
Something splashed against the hard gravel.
Blood spattered up her legs.
Hellen looked at the thing in front of her. It was a heart. A cleanly sliced out heart.
Touching it briefly, Hellen could still feel the warmth pulse through it. This heart was a fresh kill.
Something landed on Hellen.
Knocking her to the ground.
Hellen’s face smashed into the gravel.
Slicing her head.
Pushing herself back up, she knew exactly what it was as she pushed the thing off her.
It was a corpse.
A fresh warm corpse. The fresh still-vibrant rich red blood dripped out of the many wounds. It was impossible to tell if this person was a man or woman. There were simply too many cuts and injuries. From the warm pieces of flayed skin from the legs that flapped in the gentle breeze to where all the organs had been carefully carved out from the still living victim.
A part of Hellen wanted to whack herself with her massive stick. She was a failure. Her arrogance of thinking she was so smart to know where the killer was had made her lazy. She knew the killer was here. But instead of hunting this part of the docks high and low. Hellen simply stood there waiting for the killer to come to her.
The posh snobs wouldn’t have waited. They would have searched the place. They- Hellen cut herself off. She knew thinking wasn’t helpful. After all she was a Procurator, a good one. And if all that failed to make her feel good then at least she could say to people she was a best friend with the daughter of a Noble Family who was a Dominicus Procurator herself. That always made people silent and run away at parties.
Hellen bit her lip she was right about the killer being here. But she also knew the next part. Just like before, the Killer revealed his location to Hellen then the horror of this man was revealed.
Hellen’s hand tightened around her massive stick making her knuckles turn white. Because unlike last time, she would stop this killer or she would die trying. Hellen couldn’t go back to her Dominicus Procurator a failure.
***
After an hour of trying to find a way to the roof, Hellen had finally made it. She couldn’t believe how hard it was to find a ladder. It was ridiculous. She didn’t even want to think about how dock workers use to get up here for their extra... activities.
As she stepped off the ladder onto the cold hard metal rooftop, she gasped. This was beautiful. For tens upon tens of metres either side of her was nothing except dirty hard metal roofing. But the impressive part was the view.
Up here Hellen could see almost all of Ordericous, the beautiful busy harbour with tens of ships docking and unloading, the stunning castle and city in the distance and the lush forests behind her. This was beautiful. Perhaps she could bring a boy here one day for some fun.
The smell of sweat and salt reminded her of her father after a hard day’s work at the dock. Then the sound of someone hitting metal made her look to her right.
In the distance, there was a black humanoid shape near the edge, presumably close to where she was standing below earlier.
Sweat dripped down her back and forehead. All her skin turned cold and numb. Her knuckles went white gripping her massive stick. She wanted to whack something.
Walking towards the black humanoid shape, Hellen had to fight herself to keep her mind focused. What if the Killer took her?
What if the Killer attacked her?
What if-
Hellen focused herself to stop. It was all useless. If her best friend Alessandria Fireheart had taught her anything, it was the importance of staying calm. As much as Hellen just wanted to whack people over the head, Alessandria might have a point in this case.
To force her mind off the Killer, Hellen focused on the hard metal roofing that banged and creeped with every step.
There was a shard of rusty metal on the ground.
Not sure if the Killer was watching her, she grabbed it. Sliding it into her pocket.
The smell of sweat and salt from earlier become faint. Being replaced with her own fear and the smell of rotten meat.
As she got closer to the black humanoid shape, Hellen could start to make out it was a man dressed in black leather. Holding something long and silver dripping dark red liquid.
She needed to be prepared but Hellen wanted to run.
She wanted to run away and never see this man.
Hellen remembered the horrors of seeing this man kill before. Her own fear back then had stopped her from arresting this deranged Killer. She was not going to let that happen again.
When Hellen was only a few metres away from him, she stopped. This Killer was disgusting. The black leather was no normal leather. It was human leather. Made from the freshly flayed skin of his victims. It lovingly hugged his strong muscular frame.
As she suspected this foul Killer was holding a long sharp sword dripping blood in one hand. But in the other hand, he was holding a strange dagger that glowed bright red at her. The closer she got, the brighter it glowed.
